The More Things Change
by moms5thchild
Summary: Dunbar and Betancourt share a lot of things because they are partners. This is one thing they never expected to happen to both of them at the same time.
1. Chapter 1

Hello all. I haven't stopped my other stories, new chapters will be here by the end of the week, but this is the idea that couldn't wait and it is a little lighter than my other stuff. I hope nobody minds a bit of a shift in mood.

**The More Things Change**

Chapter One

Sunday morning was the one day in the week the Dunbars could, occasionally, be lazy. Today there were no trips, no concerts; no shifts to cover because of other's issues or covers to shift to other issues. Nothing needed to be done… hurrah.

Jim rolled over to his sleeping wife and buried his nose in her hair. Inhaling deeply, he wondered just which shampoo Christie was using now. Lilacs… he loved lilacs; it always reminded him of spring on his grandmother's farm. He pulled her closer and began to nuzzle her neck and felt Christie shift ever so slightly as she woke up.

"Morning, beautiful," he whispered and nibbled her ear. 'Oh god,' Jim thought as Christie spooned into him, 'she's purring.'

Then, Christie hiccupped, slapped her hand in front of her face and bolted out of the bed straight to the bathroom. Jim followed as quickly as he could and ended up holding her hair out of the way as she vomited into the toilet. Hard, shaking spasms shook her slender body and when she had finished Christie leaned back into Jim and cried.

"I take it, it was a good thing I didn't eat the fish?" Jim smiled as he heard a small laugh break through her tears.

"Yeah," Christie's whispered back.

"How about I fix you some tea and toast?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"First, back to bed and then I nurse you for a change."

* * *

"Frank Daniels, super chef, able to scramble extra large eggs with a single whisk," Frank pushed into his bedroom, breakfast on a tray balanced on his knees, ready to serve the pretty lady who now occupied his bed. 

"I can't eat all that," Karen Betancourt groaned as she surveyed the eggs, ham and toast that was placed in front of her.

"Good, cause I intend to help," Frank laughed as he transferred from chair to bed, snuggled close and swiped a piece of toast. "A boy's got to keep up his strength when he has a girl like you."

"You're incorrigible," Karen said before she kissed him on the nose. Soon she was giving Frank every other bite of breakfast.

"No napkins?"

"I'll just have to lick off your fingers… among other things."

"I love a tidy guy."

* * *

Monday morning should have been the usual rush at the Dunbars, if Christie had not been worshipng the porcelain god once more. This time it was Jim who insisted on calling the clinic and who sat nervously while Christie got poked and prodded in an exam room. Soon Doctor Fischer's nurse called Jim into his office. 

"Mr. Dunbar, Mrs. Dunbar," the young doctor scanned his notes while the couple settled in, "I believe that we may be dealing with a simple case of food poisoning. It happens frequently during the summer months… can't be sure about anything you buy off a street vendor, actually." Fischer looked up at the handsome couple in front of him and smiled. "I'll have most of the blood test results back by end of the day and if there is anything you need to know I'll get in touch with you. In the meantime, Mrs. Dunbar, go home and let your husband pamper you for the next three days. Bland diet and no caffeine and you should be as good as new on Thursday."

Jim got Christie home and tucked into bed before he headed to work. Food poisoning, that didn't seem right. He had eaten the same thing as Christie except for the catfish at the Bayou Bleu. Slipping into the subway, Jim began to feel a tiny little fear creep into his consciousness. He sucked in a long breath as he boarded into the waiting car and wondered what would happen if…

* * *

Karen sat of the edge of the tub and checked her calendar again. Damn. One, two, three, four, five days late! Damn! 

Behind her Frank walked into the bathroom. Using his leg braces and crutches he was much more awkward than in the wheelchair, but there were days when he felt he needed to look a client right in the eye.

"Why are you still in here?" he pivoted toward Karen. "It's been a half an hour?"

Karen dragged her eyes from her pocket calendar to Frank's face. She looked as if the weight of the world had just landed on her shoulders. Frank reached down, took the offending booklet from her hand and studied it carefully. Reality dawned and he hoped Karen didn't see the terror on his face.

"Oops," Karen whispered and waited for the explosion.

It never came. Instead Frank took her left hand and ran his thumb over her small fingers.

"I always wondered what it would feel like to be so in love with someone that even a seeming catastrophe would turn into a blessing. Now I know."

* * *

"Karen's late, Dunbar's late, tell me this ain't an indication that something's going on." Marty sneered as he stared at the empty desks by the windows. 

"You have a dirty mind," Tom chided his partner, "I bet it's just a co-incidence."

"Do you believe in the Easter Bunny too? Argh!" Marty twisted to see Karen behind him ready to deliver another bitch slap to the back of his head.

"You have a dirty little mind, don't you Russo," the voice of Lieutenant Fisk came from his office. "Dunbar took his wife to the doctor, some kind of an emergency. So, Karen, what's you're excuse."

"Nothing, just a quick stop at the drugstore and then over to Frank's office to drop him off."

"Young love, ain't it grand," Marty lisped and rolled his eyes at the evil look Karen threw at him.

"What's grand?" Jim asked as he and Hank got off the elevator.

"Young love, according to Marty." Karen groused as Jim made his way to his desk, somehow managing to shove the papers off Marty's desk in the process.

"Hey, you did that on purpose," Russo shot back as he grabbed the files mid-air.

"Prove it." Jim smiled insincerely in Marty's direction.

"Play nice, people. I'd like to get through Monday without bloodshed, especially in the house." With that Fisk closed his office door.

* * *

Tom and Marty went out on a robbery call and things got really quiet in the section. Karen tapped her pencil against her teeth and imagined how ridiculous she and Frank must have looked in the cramped men's washroom at Walbaum's waiting for the little plus sign to show up on the pregnancy test. When it did show up she had cried while Frank held her and told her everything would be all right. 

"Karen, have you heard a word I've said?" Jim's voice cut through her memory.

"No, I haven't. What did you want to know?"

"I was asking you what you thought about career women having babies."

'Oh, my God, when did Jim start reading her mind?' Karen thought before she opened her mouth. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Because I wanted to hear from someone who might actually have put some thought into the question. I figured you might actually want to have a kid sometime."

"Truthfully, I haven't given it much thought. I kinda wanted a boyfriend at least before a kid showed up."

Jim smiled, "what about Frank? Isn't he a boyfriend?"

"Ask me after tonight."

Jim clammed up. What could be happening now? He knew Karen had a bad track record when it came to men, but he was sure that Frank Daniels would be the 'ONE'. Maybe he was wrong.

"Hey, you two," the Bosses voice broke through the heavy silence. "I need you to head to Hester and Bowery. A DB was found behind a dumpster and judging by the description it definitely wasn't one of the locals."

"We got it," Karen called as she pulled on her leather jacket and headed to the elevator barely one moment ahead of Jim and Hank.

btc


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry this is such a short chapter, but it has been a busy weekend. More will come soon

**The More Things Change**

Chapter Two

"I taking Hank for a walk, anybody want anything?" Jim called as he shrugged on his suit jacket.

"Could you pick up soft pretzel, you know… with lots of salt… if you could." Karen's voice petered out.

"No problem, one salty pretzel for my partner." Jim smiled as the elevator door closed and he had his cell phone out and dialed before the doors opened again. Christie picked up on the second ring.

"Did you hear from the doctor?"

"Hello to you too, detective, don't you have to read me my rights before you interrogate me?" Christie snapped back.

Jim stopped walking to concentrate on the call. "I'm sorry, I'm just worried. How are you feeling?"

"Empty and tired and…. I don't know, just not right. And I haven't gotten the test results yet."

"I was thinking about you being sick in the morning, that you might be…" he didn't want to say the word, didn't want to jinx the whole situation.

"I was thinking the same thing too," her voice was soft and vaguely wistful, "but you can't even say the word."

"Christie, I'm taking Hank for a walk so I'm out of the squad room. Christie, this would be good. We'd make it good. We'd make it work for us, all of us. I'm just not getting my hopes up until the tests come in and we find out it's _not_ food poisoning or the flu."

"A lot of babies started out as the flu," the smile in her voice wrapped around Jim like a quick hug.

"Call my cell as soon as you hear, okay?"

"Okay, see you later."

"Bye, I love you." He clicked his phone shut and finally started Hank's walk. "Sorry, boy, but if everything works out you'll be an uncle."

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When Jim got back into the squad room his nose was overpowered with the smell of flowers.

"Hey, Jim, you should see what came for Karen when you were out." Tom called as Jim walked to his desk.

"Let me guess, a dozen long stemmed roses?" He settled Hank in then extended his hands toward Karen's desk.

"Try four dozen," Russo chimed in. "There are colors here I never knew roses came in. Red, pink, yellow, pinky orangey yellowy mixes, Hell, I haven't seen this many flowers since my Aunt Regina died."

"You are a true romantic, Marty." Jim reached out to touch the source of the heady scent. The soft, papery feel of the blooms reminded Jim to get flowers for Christie. "Who sent them and where is Karen? I've got her pretzel for her."

"She grabbed the card and ran to the ladies room. I think she doesn't want us to know who sent these. Couldn't possibly be some lawyer type now, could it." Marty snickered. "You could always go in there and just say you lost your way."

"Yeah, and you could always go in there and say what an idiot you are. She'll tell us when she's ready." Jim drew one of the roses to his face and drank in the fragrance. Yeah, he would get Christie flowers tonight.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marty and Karen left together at six because he was carrying all those roses for Karen. He almost ran into her when she stopped abruptly. Peeking through the blooms he saw the old Checker Marathon parked on the curb with Frank Daniels sitting on the hood. He had another bouquet of roses in his hands.

Marty let out a long, low whistle. "Is that what Lover Boy drives?"

Karen ignored her squad mate and walked up to her boyfriend. "What have you done—hijack a florist's delivery van."

Frank stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "You don't like flowers?" He pulled back his arm to toss the roses in the gutter, causing Karen to jump to rescue the gorgeous blooms from the dirty street.

"I love roses," she huffed as she swung back to confront Frank. "I don't love having everyone from Fisk on down wondering what is going on. Have you lost your mind?"

Frank's expression immediately sobered. "I just wanted to make you happy. I need to talk to you," he swung his eyes over to Russo, "alone."

"I know when I'm not wanted." Marty opened the back door of the ancient taxi and settled the flowers in the back. "Karen, I'll see you tomorrow, take care of the flower child."

"Bye, Marty," they said in unison as Russo left for home.

Karen watched as Frank slide off the hood of the cab. His arms did the majority of the work as Frank maneuvered his feeble legs to the ground. Once his feet were firmly planted he reached for his crutches, stepped up and gave himself a mental 'ta da'.

"Getting up was harder than getting down."

"I cam imagine."

"Come on, let's go home."

Karen was looking anywhere but at Frank. "Yeah, I have to go home. My home… I gotta water the plants and clean out the fridge and… think."

When her eyes landed on Frank's face she saw an emotionless mask.

"Frank," she knew she sounded desperate, "give me a little time alone with this. I haven't had a minute of peace to think about what to do."

"I thought we were going to discuss what was going to happen together."

Karen mood switched to anger. "Frank, I had to drive through downtown traffic twice today to because a derelict found a DB under a dumpster. It doesn't matter if some wino dies of natural causes we still have to investigate it like it's a murder until proved otherwise." She threw her hands in the air. "And the roses, I loved them but the guys never shut up about the damn things and my nerves are just about shot and I want to go home." By the time she finished Karen was in tears and didn't realize she had walked into Frank's arms and allowed his strength to comfort her.

"Sssshh, baby," he crooned in her ear, "I'll take you home. I'll take you to the moon if that's where you want to go. I just want you to know I never meant to make you cry."

Frank looked up and saw Lieutenant Fisk staring at him and Karen. The man looked like he wanted to rip Frank's face off. Instead Fisk turned his hand into an imaginary gun and pointed it at him. Frank knew he was in a whole lot of trouble.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

This took awhile, but here is the next chapter. I want to apologize for all the wait, but things will be better. Thanks Natasha for your help.

**The More Things Change**

Chapter 3

The rattle and wheeze of the ancient air conditioner woke her. Karen smiled as she slid out from under Frank's arm and drifted off to the kitchen to get something to drink. Orange juice, tomato juice, beer; nope: no beer for a while. Karen smiled as she pulled down one of the jelly jars she used as glasses and poured herself some OJ. Then the long low rumble of a very masculine snore made her head jerk up. God, he was noisier than a freight train. Looking over her shoulder Karen could see her entire studio apartment. There was Frank, stretched out on her daybed taking up so much space that she had to crawl on top of him to fall asleep. Of course, that wasn't any hardship. She smiled as she walked over to watch him breathe. He was such a big man, even fast asleep he filled her little apartment to capacity and beyond.

Little apartment; it was too small for her now, but all she did was sleep here. Add a baby to the mix and the place was impossible. Add baby and Frank, Karen realized as a smile flitted across her lips, there was no way to pry Frank Daniels out of her life now and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Karen," Frank's sleepy voice sounded vaguely alarmed that she was gone.

"Right here," she sighed, "I was thirsty. Do you want some juice?"

"Nyah, just you," he swiped his arm out to pull Karen back into bed and showered both them and the bed with orange juice.

"Damn," they both yelped as Karen went running for a sponge. Frank vainly trying to strip the sheets, with him in them, off of the bed only to have himself and the bedclothes tumble onto the floor.

He looked up sheepishly, "well, that's one hell of a mood breaker."

"I don't have another set of clean sheets," Karen looked down at Frank and started to giggle. Soon they were both on the floor shaking with laughter.

"What a revolting predicament," Karen said in her best Sylvester the Cat voice.

"Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten me into," Frank groused, but then reached out and took Karen's small, strong hands in his calloused ones.

"Marry me."

She stopped laughing.

"This is as close to on bended knee as I'll ever get. Marry me and we can burn this damn bed. I'll take you away from Canarsie… all the way to Yonkers."

"You idiot," she straddled his lap and put her head on his shoulder,

"Yeah, I was joking about the Canarsie part, but not about, you know, the 'marry me' part."

Karen leaned back so she could see Frank's face clearly. "This isn't because I'm pregnant." She sounded suspicious.

"Kinda," Frank looked serious, "I was going to wait for 'Be Kind to Gimps Week' to see if it would make a difference, but this gave me a teeny, tiny excuse to speed things up."

"I don't know," Karen hid her face against Frank's broad shoulder again.

"Why?"

"Cause the good guys never stick to me. And you're so good and I keep thinking one day you're gonna disappear."

Frank tipped her head back and so he could look her straight in the eye. "I am never going to disappear."

"Oh, god, I hope you didn't just jinx us."

"Me too, I still haven't seen Paris.

* * *

Friday was another morning of waking up to the sound of retching. Christie wasn't getting any better. The vomiting was pulling every spare bit of energy out of her body. Jim could feel her skin becoming drier and her bones more prominent at her wrists and her ribs. He just didn't understand what Christie was afraid of. He was at the end of his rope and if he couldn't get his wife to return to voluntarily go to the doctor's he was going to drag her there while he still had a wife to drag.

Then he heard it, breaking glass and something; someone falling.

"Christie!" Jim sprang from the bed and ran straight to the sound of his wife's sobs, oblivious to the bite of broken glass stinging his feet.

"Jimmy, stop… I dropped the coffee pot," Christie sounded tired and disgusted with herself as she sat on the coffee covered floor. "It was too heavy."

"That's it, no more. I am calling an ambulance and you are going to emergency right now." His words were harsh but not even the feel of spilt coffee stopped Jim from sliding down beside her and gathered Christie into his arms to hold her close.

"You might need some doctoring too, Detective," she sniffled as she noticed the blood seeping from his feet.

"We'll worry about that later," Jim stood, pulled Christie to her feet and then picked her up and carried her to the couch. Once he had her settled Jim found the phone and dialed 911.

Lieutenant Fisk waited for Karen Betancourt to catch her as she walked into the squad. "Karen, go pick your partner up at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital and make sure he gets home and stays home."

"Columbian Presbyterian; did something happen?"

"You could say that. He'll be off his feet a few days so get him home." Fisk tried to retreat into his office before Karen asked the inevitable.

"What about his wife?" Karen was really confused, where was Christie Dunbar?

"She was admitted for observation," her boss turned back to her. "If you don't want to go I can always send Russo. I'm sure that'll make Dunbar's day." Fisk saw Karen roll her eyes. "Go get your partner and then get back A.S.A.P."

* * *

Jim leaned heavily on crutches trying vainly to keep all his weight off his stitched up left foot while Karen unlocked the front door. Hank's overly exuberant welcome nearly knocked him flat on his ass as he tried to hobble inside.

"Hank, I'm sorry boy," Dunbar crooned to his dog. "He needs a walk Karen, right now."

"Oh my god, Jim," Karen couldn't believe the blood; it looked like it had been splashed across the kitchen floor and smeared clear through to the living room. "This looks like something I saw during the Tongue Collector case. Stay there while I sweep up the glass. This stuff will cut through those bandages and that slipper like they weren't even there."

"Later, walk Hank first. I'll sweep up."

"Now, how are your gonna juggle crutches and a broom? Just stay put or get to the couch and I'll be back soon."

Karen tried to guide Jim to the couch. He shrugged her off, balanced carefully on the crutches and he listened to the rattle of Hank's leash and door closing behind him. Then he swung each crutch forward in a tight arc hoping they would push the broken glass away as he moved to the dining table. Jim couldn't imagine what he looked like, sporting a NYPD windbreaker to cover his t-shirt and whatever sweat pants the EMT had found in the bedroom for the ride to the hospital. He knew he looked like a bum. Hell, he probably looked like his father after one of those five day drunks.

Stop; concentrate on Christie and her getting better. Christie told him to think good thoughts even though she had IV's in both arms. Good thoughts… yeah, sure, absolutely; he'd think good thoughts right after he swept the broken glass off the kitchen floor.

"Jim," he heard Karen bump through the door and stop dead as she saw him push a broom over the hardwood floor. "You just don't listen, do you?"

"I'm a big boy, mommy." He leaned on his left crutch and pulled the broom over the sticky mess, "I'm just not used to chaos anymore and I can damn well sweep the damn floor."

"Hey, I didn't say you couldn't sweep the 'damn' floor, I just I'd do it. You have eight stitches in your left foot and you're supposed to stay off it until it's healed." Karen tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Jim to get out of her way. He didn't move. "How the hell you gonna dance at my wedding if you really screw up your foot?"

Jim's head shot up, "wedding? You and Frank?"

"Yeah," there was a smile in her voice, "and if you say a word to Selway and Russo you're gonna need those crutches a long, long time."

Karen pulled a stool away from the breakfast bar and slapped it twice. "Park it here and I'll tell you all about my romantic proposal… and I'll check the floor."

"All you'll find is coffee." Jim smirked.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

This story is moving faster than my other right now, so I hope I am forgiven for being so nasty to the guys.

**The More Things Stay the Same**

Chapter 4

Marty leaned back in his chair to watch Karen walk through the squad room and head straight into Fisk's office. "Mission accomplished," Marty shook his head. It didn't matter that he was really beginning to like Dunbar, every time one of these unexplained 'extras' were done he just couldn't let it rest.

"Hey," Tom shot a rubber band at Marty's head, "you don't even know what's going on."

"All I know is; I don't get door to door service from the boss over every little thing. Ow!" Marty grabbed the back of his head. He hadn't realized Karen had walked up behind him until she had smacked him.

"You are a real pain in the ass," Karen glowered and stomped to her desk. "Don't make me wanna do that again today."

"Well, I wanna know what's happened," Selway tried to defuse the tension in the air by asking. "Is Jim gonna need any help cause he sure ain't gonna ask for it."

"There was a little accident and Christie is in the hospital. Jim's gonna be on crutches for a few days."

"Now, I'd pay to see that," Russo crowed as he streaked into the locker room in an attempt to avoid bitch slaps and rubber bands. Once there, however, he pulled out his cell phone and hit number 4 on his speed dial. "Hey, Dunbar, I hear you're off your feet. How's about I grab a pizza and feed ya tonight… sure, I'll take ya to see the wife tonight… as long as ya got beer in the fridge, and not that light shit. Okay, later." Marty ended the call and looked up to see Selway standing in the doorway, smirking at him and making back scrubbing motions.

* * *

It was like working a crime scene; walking the grid to carefully cover the entire area. Crutch under his left side, mop pushed from his right side Jim Dunbar cleaned the spilled coffee off the kitchen floor.

"Mission accomplished, Hank. What's the next job?" The rattle of his tags and the feel of wet nose told Jim that his dog was here. "I know; its give Hank a treat time." He reached toward the refrigerator, wobbled a bit and put down his left foot to steady himself. Pain lanced up through his stitches and he tried to get raise his foot to relieve the agony and nearly unbalanced again. "Shit, shit, shit," using the sponge mop like a cane Jim hobbled round the breakfast bar and sat heavily down on one of the chairs there.

Of course, this was when the phone started to ring. Jim closed his eyes and tried to remember where the second crutch was when the call went to voice mail. Flipping his watch crystal open to check the time Jim groaned to find it was barely noon; just another perfect fucking thing to add an already perfect fucking day. As much as he wanted to ignore the call he knew he had to pick up.

"Hello, Officer Dunbar, this is Nurse Bagshendani from Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. Could you get here as soon as possible?"

"What's the matter?" his words were clipped and sharp.

"The doctor's are about to take your wife into surgery."

"Who authorized this?"

"Detective, you wife has signed all the papers and asked you get here as soon as possible. I am so sorry, but the doctors believed they could not wait for you."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Jim ended this call to start another. "Cara; its Jim, I need someone to walk Hank… yes, I have to get back to hospital. No, things don't look good. No, I'm calling a cab; I just… need someone to walk Hank."

* * *

"Halt, police," the words carried over the sounds of breaking doors, dropping tools and running feet. John Clark and Baldwin Jones waved their guns back and forth with the precision of long practice as uniformed officers covered all the secondary exits of the warehouse. This was the biggest chop shop in the 27th Precinct and they were finally closing it down. The raid was all over in less than twenty minutes, followed by the process of getting the suspects cuffed, Mirandized and shoved into an armored bus for quick transport to central booking. The squad leader, Andy Sipowicz, joined Jones and Baldwin and together they walked through the piles of fenders, hoods, alternators and all the other bits and pieces that made car thief so profitable.

"Hey," Baldwin's face lit up as he spotted the large, yellow car that had yet to face a cutting torch. "I haven't seen one of these things in years."

"Yeah, a Checker Marathon," Sipowicz ran his hand over the bulbous fender. "My pop used to say one of these things was big enough to hold a family of fifteen."

"What's in the back seat?" Clark reached past his former partner and opened the heavy door. Inside was a sleek, black wheelchair; a pair of elbow crutches jammed between it and the front seat. "Whoever needed this stuff wasn't here, was he?"

"Nope, I would have noticed," Baldwin said as he opened the glove box to see if the registration and insurance were there. They were, neat in they're plastic folder. "I think we had better start looking for one Francis X. Daniels, 'cause I bet he wouldn't willingly leave that stuff behind."

Fisk had barely finished his lunch when the phone rang. It was Sergeant Sipowicz from the 27th Precinct asking questions about Betancourt. Her name and cell number were scrawled on the back of a receipt found during an ongoing investigation. Andy knew it was the name of one of Gary's officers he had made the call. Damn, there had been too much drama here today. Besides, Karen was out to lunch with Russo and Selway and this little bomb was just going to have to wait until they got back.

* * *

His phone rang again, "Fisk." 

"Boss," Dunbar's voice sounded haggard and thin, "why are you answering Selway's ring. Where is everybody? Did I miss a case?"

"Nyah, they're all out to lunch… as usual."

"I need to know who the human resources rep is? I don't have the number with me."

"No problem, I've got the number right here. Can I ask what's going on? It's not your foot?"

An exasperated sigh came through the receiver. "My wife just got out of surgery and I left home without all the insurance information I need."

"I'll fax everything from this end over ASAP."

"Good, Christie's boss is doing the same thing. Thanks."

"Jim… not trying to be too nosey, but…" Fisk didn't get a chance to finish his question.

"Ectopic pregnancy," was the short, sad answer.

The lieutenant dropped his chin to his chest, "I take care of everything on this end." Fisk wasn't surprised when Dunbar hung up the phone. Outside his office he could hear his detectives laughter as they returned from lunch. He straightened his shoulders and stood up to be the official bearer of bad news. Well, his mother always said that bad things happened in threes, so hopefully no more shit would hit the fan today. Then, the first person he say when he opened his office door was Karen Betancourt. She smiled and then raised her eyebrows when he fixed her with his tired eyes. Damn, maybe the shit still wasn't finished hitting the fan.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**The More Things Change**

Chapter Five

"Where the hell am I?'

Frank's head pounded in time with the rhythm of his heart beat.

Ka-thump… ka-thump… ka-thump… ka-thump…

He rolled his head around to the left and then the right, hoping this would push pain out so he could string two coherent thoughts together.

"Daniels, how the hell do you get yourself into this kinda crap?" God, even talking to himself; Frank sounded like he'd been chewing gravel. At least the day was cloudy, because when he opened his eyes the sun wasn't bright enough to ignite his eyeballs with pain. Slowly he levered himself up and looked around. He was in a wrecking yard. The rusted hulks of old cars piled four and five high hid the outside world from him and hid him from the outside. What the hell happened? The last thing he remembered was heading to Hoboken with paper work for a one of the law firm's major real estate customers. He hadn't even made it to the Holland Tunnel when his cell phone rang. Frank knew from bumper denting experience he couldn't drive his hand control car and talk on the phone at the same time, so he pulled over to answer the phone. After that, everything was a big blur.

"Damn, I was car jacked."

* * *

The beeps of the heart monitor are really annoying. High and persistent like little hammers striking his ear drums.

Beep… beep… beep… beep…

The only good thing about the damn noises was that they were loud and persistent. Life was loud and persistent and Jim Dunbar could hear life with each maddening sound from the machine.

Jim started to knead lotion Christie's hand. He bet he looked selfless rather than self serving. The nurses were oohing and aahing. Isn't it wonderful, Jim could hear them say, for him to massage hand cream into her fingers? Actually, he was just finding a way to keep hold of Christie, anchor himself to her in the strange world of post surgical ICU. When we get home, Jim promised himself, I am going to ask Christie how she kept from going insane while she waited for me to wake from my coma. If he hadn't kept hold of Christie's hand he would have gone nuts.

"Jimmy," the familiar voice of Walter Clark came from behind him.

"Walter, could you stay here while I head to the 'john'," Jim said as he reached for the crutches.

"No problem, kid, take your time."

"Nope, I'll be quick. I wanna be here when she wakes up." Jim hoisted himself up, "call it reciprocity, she was beside me when I woke up and I was conked out a hell of a lot longer."

"You need some help? Want me to call a nurse?"

Jim bit back the profanity he wanted to say and simply nodded and waited while Walter waved a nurse over. If it wasn't for the damn crutches he'd do it for himself. Damn crutches. "Sure, and I expect some of the guys from the eighth will be showing up soon."

Walter nodded and then remembered and answered aloud. "I'll head them off at the pass after you get back."

"Thanks, Walter. I owe you one."

"More than one, kid, and one of these days I'll collect."

* * *

Frank sat up straight planted his hands firmly on the ground behind him and pushed himself back towards the closest stack of rusted car bodies. He strained his back muscles with each push, lift and drag. Frank smirked to himself, when he broke his back, it had been a low, lumbar break and his injury was incomplete. Whoopee for me, he thought as he reached back for the next move. He could walk with braces and crutches, unfortunately his crutches and his cell phone and his wallet and anything that could be pawned for a quick buck were nowhere in sight. Still, if he could get up on his feet Frank would be easier to spot than if he was laying in the tall grass and debris that littered this place.

Craning his head over his left shoulder Frank saw he was almost there. Would those old hulks be steady enough for him to pull himself up onto his feet? One more pull and he'd be close enough to try and stand. Without his crutches, though, Frank wasn't going to be able to walk out of this place. He had to attract someone's attention.

But how?

* * *

Karen sat and stared, her eyes moving first from the laptop, to the elevator and then to the phone. How would the news; any news, come?

"Selway, Russo," the Boss's voice sliced through the silence, "alarms triggered at China Town Jewelry Exchange."

"We're on it," Marty said as he grabbed his jacket and then the paper Fisk held out.

Tom was a bit slower; he stopped in front of Karen's desk and silently patted her hand before he followed his partner.

Fisk looked at the young detective and realized she had turned off all but the most basic connections she had with work. "Karen, are you gonna be able to do your job today?"

"Yeah," she stumbled over her words only for a moment. "Yes, I can do my job fine."

"Even with your boyfriend missing?"

She hesitated for just a moment before answering. "I want to be here when the 27th finds my fiancé."

Fisk's eyes nearly popped out of his head and he had to compose himself quickly, "only until four o'clock. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, boss," she replied and moved her eyes from the laptop, to the elevator and then to the phone.

* * *

The piled cars were rock solid, so Frank had no trouble pulling himself to his feet. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could use to for crutches. He swiveled round so he leaned against the rusty wrecks and survey the place. It looked like the yard went on for miles. Thing was, the price of real estate in and around the metro New York/New Jersey area was too damn expensive to be left as an auto junk yard. That meant he had to be close to something. He could hear hum of traffic and grind of machinery. Now all Frank had to do was find a way to signal someone he was here.

That was when he noticed it, on the ground by a bald tire on a rim, a lost pack of cigarettes. A new, nearly full pack of cigarettes with a little lighter stuffed inside.

"Hey, Kemosabi, we make'm some smoke signals," he almost laughed with relief. Now, all he had to do was get back down to the ground, get to the lighter and start a fire that would not engulf the whole, greasy area and turn him into a crispy critter.

"Momma told me there'd be days like this," Frank whispered as he began to lower himself down into the dirt again.

* * *

"Jimmy," her voice was barely a whisper.

"Right here," he squeezed her hand a little tighter.

"I'm sorry," Christie started to cry, "I'm so sorry."

"Shhh, it's alright. You couldn't help it. This stuff just happens."

Jim murmured small, inconsquential things and waited until Christie's breathing evened out. She had fallen asleep.

Walter put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "The nurses will be moving her to a room now. Let'em do their job. I'll buy you a coffee."

"Yeah," Jim got to his feet and out of the way of the hospital staff. Walter kept his hand on Jim's shoulder and tried to steer him from behind to keep out of the way of the crutches.

"When are those damn stitches coming out?"

"Next week. Christie will be home before I stop hobbling on these things." Jim let out a tired sigh, "I'm gonna have'ta challenge Karen's boyfriend to a race. I'd loose, but it would look real fucking funny."

"You are a sick puppy, Jimmy." Walter laughed. He'd have to remember that joke just to embarrass Dunbar later.

* * *

"Karen," Fisk pointed to the clock on the wall. It was 3:30, almost time for her to go home. Then he stepped up to Karen and handed her his cell.

She stared at it for a minute before she put it to her ear. "Hello? Hello! Frank, where the hell are you? Sit your ass down there and don't you dare move, I'm coming right now."

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**The More Things Change**

Chapter 6

Karen ran into the emergency entrance at Bellevue; her badge pointed out like a gun ready to take out anyone who got in her way.

"Frank Daniels," she practically shouted at the nurse manning the receiving desk.

"Exam room three," the bored looking nurse jerked her thumb toward the swinging doors. This was Bellevue, nothing surprised this nurse anymore.

Karen jogged to exam room three and pushed her way inside to find Frank propped up on the table. He was black with soot, clothes cut off, an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose and his hair and eyebrows were singed.

Karen couldn't believe how good he looked.

When Frank opened his arms Karen dove into his embrace and held him tight; never wanting to let him go.

"Maybe I should get car jacked more often."

"Don't you even joke about that," she didn't know whether to laugh, cry or beat the living shit out of Frank.

"How about I promise to never do that again," he pushed Karen away so he could see her face. "I have to wait for someone called Baldwin Jones to come and ask me a bunch of questions I don't know the answers to. Dad is bringing clothes and my spare chair over and then I can go home." Frank pushed Karen's hair behind her ear, "come with me. I don't think I could take your day bed right now."

"I have to get a change of clothes," she said as rubbed the soot off the end of Frank's nose.

"Pack all your clothes; stay with me, never go back to that cracker box you call home."

"And live in your parent's basement, nice place but not cool, Daniels."

"Mr. Daniels," a nurse interrupted, "your friend has to wait outside."

Frank straightened his shoulders, "this is Detective Betancourt from the 8th Precinct. She's here on business."

"All I see is monkey business and don't you go flipping your badge at me, girlie. I don't care if you are Chief of Police; you get your ass into that waiting room until we call you."

"She's my wife," Frank lied like a lawyer. "I need her here for my well being."

"She can come back after we finish with you. Kiss your detective wifie good bye and let her get outta here." The nurse checked the oxygen tanks Frank's mask was hooked onto and then turned her back on the pair alone.

"You are a pistol," Karen laughed.

"This time next week I swear you will be Karen Daniels. I want to marry you now, this minute. After today I am never putting off any good thing that happens to me… and you are the best thing I ever imagined."

* * *

Walter Clark took Jim home. No matter how much Jim swore he could make it to the apartment on his own, Walter wouldn't leave until Jim was deposited safely inside his home.

"You are just too damn pathetic, Dunbar. What are you gonna do to yourself next time, go deaf." Walter said as he checked Hank's dish while Hank checked out his master and then got Jim a beer from the fridge.

"Not if I got anything to say about it," Jim snapped back as he sank down onto the sofa, but he smiled when he wrapped his hand around the cold, frosty bottle.

"I'm heading home before Marie sends out a search party, but I'll be back in the morning to take you to Christie."

"Walter…" Jim almost said don't come, but this was different. This was Walter Clark and he was the closest thing to a hands on father Jim ever had. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

Then, he was gone. Jim took a long pull on his beer and leaned his head back into the couch cushions behind him. About week had passed since the idea that Christie was pregnant entered his mind. Only five days since the test came back positive and today it was all over.

Endometriosis, the doctors said that endometriosis covered Christie's abdominal cavity with thick, sticky blood. It had pasted her fallopian tubes into twisted mazes that would probably never let a normal pregnancy occur. It was a good thing his brothers had kids because there were probably never going to be Jimmy Dunbar Jrs in the future.

"Damn," Jim swallowed down the rest of his beer. He always wanted kids, little boys to play ball with, little girls to… hell, play ball with them too. Maybe it was a good thing, this endo-stuff, his ball playing days were over. Another missed opportunity for the Dunbars, if they had really wanted kids they should have started sooner, planned and maybe thought about something other than their jobs. Jim pulled his arm back to throw the beer bottle at the brick wall. He almost did it, too; except he'd have to clean it up afterwards and the way his luck was running he'd cut his other foot. Jim lowered his arm, "now, a blind guy in a wheel chair; that would be really pathetic, wouldn't it, Walter."

There was a knock and the sound of his door opening. Who had keys to the place now?

"Hey, Jim," Karen's voice drifted over with the smell of pizza. "Sorry I'm late, but something came up."

"I thought Russo was bringing the pizza," Jim reached for the crutches.

"Nay, don't get up," her footsteps were soft against the hardwood floors. Karen had taken off her shoes. "Marty and Tom got a hot case, unset diamonds went awol, and things are really moving fast so Marty told me to feed ya. I'm kinda late." With that she put the pie on the coffee table.

"I just got back," he leaned forward and put the empty bottle on the coffee table and then slid his hand over to find the pizza box and extract a piece and hand it to Karen. "Walter Clark came to the hospital and took me afterwards."

"And ya didn't eat with him?"

"Marty was supposed to be bringing pizza. I never let a chance to get a free meal from Russo go by." Jim expertly pulled out another slice, folded it and bit onto the gooey pie. "So," he mumbled through his chews, "what kept ya?"

"Clark and Jones from the 27th took down a chop shop today, found a Checker Marathon there."

"Frank drives one of those, doesn't he?"

"It was Frank's and he wasn't in it."

Jim leaned back, "oh, is this one of those good news bad news joke. The bad news is the car was chopped and the good news was he wasn't in it."

"He wasn't in the car when it was found, intact. He was in the car when it was stolen."

"What?"

Karen sighed and went on. "He got car jacked, dumped in a wrecking yard after his wallet, cell phone and watch were stolen. He set a fire using a pack of cigarettes… and greasy rags and dead grass and nearly set himself on fire but managed to get noticed and get found."

"And this is the man you are going to marry," Jim deadpanned.

"As soon as humanly possible," the smile in her voice told Jim that Karen meant what she said.

"You know how to pick'em," he laughed.

"Well, I figured I can put up with you, I can put up with anything. Hey, partner, want another beer."

"Only if you want one or maybe some wine; there's some in the fridge."

"I'll have milk," came over the sound of clinking bottles.

When Karen came back to the sofa Jim was chewing his lower lip, putting marriage and milk together and coming up with… something good.

Finally he smiled, "Could you put off the ceremony about a week, 'cause I don't think I can juggle Hank, crutches and a shot gun all at the same time."

Fin

Thank you all who have stayed with this story. It was fun to write and I hope you all enjoyed reading it.


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